Cellmates

Even at two in the morning the cellblock in a maximum security
penitentiary was never completely devoid of noise. The main
lights were extinguished, the televisions and radios shut off,
and the order for silence about the cellblock has been blared
over the intercom. But it was never completely silent. You could
still hear the graveyard shift guard with his radio turned down
low as he paced up and down the row, the toilets flushing,
tormented men crying out in their sleep, jacking off, coughing,
sneezing, farting, sobbing.

Then there was the occasional cry of pain and anguish as an
inmate decided to take himself out by slashing his wrists with a
homemade shank but then couldn't handle the pain of what he had
just done to himself or the fear of what was yet to come.
Some nights, like tonight, you heard an inmate, almost always a
fish, scream out "Mommy." For some reason when a fish, fresh from
the street, got turned out for the first time, he often called
out for his "Mommy."
Thad Jensen had heard grown men scream that out probably close to
a hundred times since he had been locked down for his fifteen
years. Fifteen years today since it was past midnight already.
Today was the day. He be getting his walking papers in about a
dozen hours. No parole guidelines for him to follow, he had done
his whole bit.
From an early age the locals always said that he was a bully. A
bad kid. A no good punk destined to go nowhere but jail or the
cemetery.
The locals had been right.
He was just seventeen years old the night he committed the crime
that got him sent up. Already drunk one Friday night on the old
man's vodka, he had walked into a convenience store and tried to
waltz out with a twelve pack of beer. The clerk, a pensioner in
his sixties, had chased Thad into the parking lot, where Thad who
was big for his age, had broken the clerk's nose and jaw with a
series of brutal punches. After a witness called in the crime, a
high speed chase ensued which ended with Thad face down on the
pavement and his hands cuffed behind him, his parent's car
totaled against a telephone pole.
He was tried as an adult and was given a sentence of fifteen
years but would be eligible for parole in four if he behaved
while serving his sentence. He had no reaction to the sentence.
He showed no remorse.
And he sure as shit didn't behave while serving his
sentence.
Because of his age he was sent to the St. Cloud Reformatory where
he learned that since he was white he was now a minority . He was
quickly recruited by an Aryan prison gang, and because of his
size, which would become greatly enhanced by hours spent on the
weight pile, he became a valuable enforcer. Young naïve Thad
bought the wannabe Nazi's bullshit rhetoric hook, line, and
sinker, and soon he was sporting a swastika on his chest and
carrying around a bootleg copy of Mein Kampf, even though he
didn't understand a fucking word of it.
It didn't take him long before he began to build a thick jacket
with the prison administration. He was written up numerous times
for assault, possession of narcotics and weapons, disrespect to
officers, and dozens of other infractions. The day he reached his
twenty first birthday, rather than being released on parole, he
was shackled and transferred to the penitentiary at Stillwater
where he was greeted with open arms by his fellow comrades.
Stillwater Penitentiary was the turf of the white prison gangs.
Thad was finally at home.
And that's where twelve years later Thad Jensen found himself. On
his final night in the joint he laid in his bunk and mentally
reviewed his personal resume.
He had survived dozens of prison gang wars and uprisings. He had
been stabbed. He had been shot (barely grazed but still shot) by
a tower guard during a riot. He had been gassed and maced. He had
spent months in the hole without letting the assholes break him.
He was a high ranking lieutenant with the Aryans. And now he had
fulfilled the terms of his sentence without the benefit of
parole. He would walk out the gates a free man.
He was also thirty-three years old, had no home to go to, no
family to speak of since they had all disowned him over the
years, had the education of a mentally challenged fifth grader,
and no idea what life outside these walls held for him. His
counselor had managed to find him a room at a shelter upon his
release along with a job at a aluminum can recycling plant. The
job started at minimum wage.
Thad heard his cellmate stir in the bunk underneath him.
"Sounds like someone is getting it tonight."
"Yea, it's Tuesday. Fresh meat always gets brought in on
Tuesdays."
"I didn't. They brought me in on a weekend." replied his
cellmate.
"Well, you're a whole different fucking matter all together.
You're one of those high profile cases."
His cellmate was indeed high profile and more. He possessed what
inmates called a "freak" jacket. Timothy Logan had been a
twenty-six year old mortuary sciences student who had been picked
up for raping and killing a sixteen year old girl who was on her
way home from a high school basketball game. What the police
found when they tossed his apartment brought him semi-national
attention.
Timothy had been interning at a Minneapolis funeral home where he
worked the night shift. All by his lonesome. Turns out he liked
it like that. When the police shook down his apartment after they
picked him up for the murder, they found hundreds of nude photos
of both dead females and males which had been taken at the
funeral home. They also found several videos of him engaged in
sexual intercourse with female stiffs.
Timothy's attorney tried the insanity defense. It didn't work,
and after a sensational trial which was seemingly covered
non-stop by the media, was found guilty late on a Friday
afternoon. The county jail felt that they could not provide the
security that Timothy required for his safety from his fellow
inmates, so rather than waiting out the weekend he was
transferred the following morning to the penitentiary.
In a bit of payback for all of his years of being a pain in the
ass to them, the warden thought it might be a hoot to put a child
raping murderer diagnosed with necrophilia, right into Thad's
cell, who had only six months left to serve. Thad was pissed
behind belief at this show of total disrespect but he kept his
mouth shut. He was just too goddamn short to bitch about
it.
His first night inside, Timothy who was small of stature, had
been cornered in the shower and turned out by a couple of black
gangsters from St. Paul. He didn't call out for his Mommy. He
just took it.
And he took it for weeks until he finally broke down and asked
Thad for protection. For a price of course, Thad could offer him
protection against rival gangs and lone predators, but Timothy
would still be required to take care of the members of Thad's
gang if they so desired. The fee was a weekly deposit from
Timothy's family into Thad's inmate account.
But when Thad walked through those gates in a couple of hours,
Timothy would be on his own. Their deal would be null and
void.
"I've got a proposition for you, Thad."
"And what the fuck can you offer me now? You know I don't mess
with jailhouse sissies. You think with a couple of hours left
that I'd want what you could give me? Shit! First thing I'm gonna
do when I get on the street is get me a good looking whore and
nail her right through the mattress."
"No, not that. Here's the deal. If you can make a protection deal
with your brothers for me. That is if they can guarantee my
safety after your gone. I'll turn you on to a score that'll
easily bankroll your first year on the street."
His interest piqued, Thad sat up in his bunk. "What kind of
score?"
Timothy got out of his bunk and took a seat on their communal
toilet. "You make the deal to keep me safe and I don't mean just
safe from the other inmates, I mean no more getting punked by
your brothers either. You get me two weeks of total protection to
prove to me that you're word is good and I'll mail you directions
to the easiest score you could imagine. I'll even give you name
of the fence so the whole deal will be cool for you."
The graveyard shift guard, a rookie, stopped in front of their
cell. "Shut the hell up in there and hit the sack or I'll write
both of your asses up." Thad shot the finger to the guard who
stood and glared at him for several moments but then moved
on.
Timothy got up and walked to the front of the cell to make sure
the guard hadn't stopped to listen in on their conversation. He
had already moved on down to the end of the cellblock.
"What to do you have to lose? I'm still locked up here and if I
fuck you over I know what's going to happen. So what do you
say?"
"You're sure as hell gonna have to give me more information than
that before I cut a deal to save your ass."
"Just before I got busted I had to work on a old broad who died
of a heart attack. Came from a rich family. Stinking fucking
rich. For her funeral the family had her laid out wearing two
gigantic diamond rings and a matching diamond necklace. Must be
worth a fortune. Here's the kicker. They buried them with her!
They didn't give a shit about 'em. The funeral director tried to
convince them to take them before we closed her box but they were
adamant about burying the old bitch with them. So we did. I was
planning on digging her up myself but I got arrested before I
could."
"And just what the hell does that have to do with me?"
"You guarantee my safety and I'll mail you the name of the
cemetery, the old broad's name, and the number of her plot. All
you have to do is dig up the old bitch and snatch the jewels. The
fence will give you no problem, either. I've known the guy for
years. I'd imagine you'll clear at least 15K."
He had already made his decision. He had nothing to lose but he
tried to make it seem like he was in turmoil while he thought it
over.
"All right. You got a deal. But I'll tell you one thing. If this
is some kind of a set up or I dig that stiff up and there's
nothing in that box but a bunch of bones. You'll regret the
fucking day you ever walked into my cell!"
"It's no set up. It's guaranteed. But how can I be sure that you
won't back out on the deal once you get the diamonds?"
Thad glared down at him. "Because I'm giving you my fucking word!
How's that? My word's been good on the yard in this prison for
twelve goddamn years so it's good enough for your worthless
ass."
"All right then. We've got a deal." Timothy slid back on to his
bunk.
Thad was so geared up he didn't sleep a minute for the rest of
the night. At breakfast he would clear the deal with his crew. It
was to be hands off Timothy. But once he had the diamonds and had
sold them, he'd be in contact. Then they could do to Timothy
whatever their hearts desired.
By noon he had cleared out processing and was given a lift in a
prison van down to the shelter. He started his new job the
following morning. It was shit but he kept his mouth shut. He
just had to gut it out for two weeks. With his meager prison
savings he bought a city map, crowbar, flashlight, a cheap
knockoff Buck knife, and a shovel. He wrapped the items in a
plastic garbage bag and hid them in a crawlspace behind the
shelter.
The time passed slowly. Life was torture for Thad on the outside.
Inside he was a big man. A player. A convict. A man of respect.
Outside he was just another minimum wage worker with a record.
And the world was different. Confusing with it's cash machines,
Internet, cable television, computers, and SUVs. He spent his
nights in his shitty little room drinking rotgut beer. And even
though he was free from the constraints of parole, the second day
at his new job he was given a quick visit by a couple of smart
ass detectives from the Organized Crime/Gang unit. Just to let
him know they'd be keeping an eye out for him.
The envelope arrived sixteen days after Thad had been released.
Inside was the name of the cemetery, a map and grid number for
the grave, and the name and address for the fence. So far Timothy
was a man of his word. Too bad for him that Thad wasn't.
That night he climbed out the window of his room, grabbed his
tools, hotwired a old Chevy owned by another ex-con at the
shelter, and drove carefully to the cemetery. His driver's
license had expired while in prison and his driving skills were a
rusty as hell but he arrived at the cemetery without any
problems. The gates were secured with a wrap around chain and an
old padlock which was broken off easily with a few swings from
the crowbar. He drove the Chevy in, closed the gates behind him,
and wrapped the chain back around it.
Since he couldn't read for shit it took about an hour to figure
out the grid used to locate the grave. Then he wandered in
circles for almost another hour before he finally stumbled on to
it. The gravestone was fancy and looked expensive so that was a
good sign. He stuck his shovel into the soil. It slid in like
butter and he found the digging to be relatively easy. It had
been a wet spring and the dirt came up in huge wet clumps.
After several hours of digging his shovel hit the vault. That's
were he ran into problems. The sealant glue on the vault must
have been industrial strength and by the time he had broken the
seal to the vault with the crowbar and muscled it open (Thank God
for prison weight programs, the lid was heavy as a son of a
bitch) it was almost dawn. He was exhausted and covered head to
toe in mud.
Thad stuck the end of the crowbar into the lid of the casket. It
popped open with a crack.
He turned his flashlight on and scanned over the body inside. The
old girl inside was still in good shape. She almost looked alive.
Timothy had done a good job. Thad had been expecting a skeleton
or at least a rotting corpse with a funky stench but she was
neither. Just a little musty. But Timothy, that child raping
pervert, hadn't been lying. The old lady was sporting two huge
rocks on her fingers and a equally enormous one around her
scrawny, chick neck. Thad giggled like a little kid as he pulled
them off the body and climbed out the grave .
Time was running out. Thad had no idea when the grounds keeping
crew would show up for work. So suddenly revived by the
adrenaline pumping through him, he sprinted to the car, threw the
diamonds inside, grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, and ran
over to the groundskeeper's tool shed. He quickly stripped down
and hosed himself off. The water was freezing and the temperature
was probably somewhere in the forties and it took all Thad had in
him not to scream out. He toweled off the best he could and threw
on the fresh set of clothes.
When he pulled out of the graveyard and on to the main road the
morning commute traffic was light. He was almost home free!
It was still early morning, and the fence, who ran a pawnshop,
wouldn't be open until eight, so Thad parked the car in a alley
down from the shop, put the diamonds in his jacket pocket, and
walked over a couple of blocks to get some coffee and a couple of
burgers at a White Castle.
Promptly at eight o'clock, Thad walked into the shop. The geezer
behind the counter was beyond ancient. Had to have been closed to
ninety if he was a day. This was going to be a fucking breeze,
thought Thad.
He peered up at Thad through thick, pop bottle lenses.
"Can I help you?"
"Yea, Timothy sent me."
"Ah yes. You are Thad then. Timothy's friend. Timothy called me
from prison. Said that you would have some diamonds to sell.
Timothy and I did a lot of business together. He knows I am
always in the market for diamonds. Let me lock the door so we can
conduct our business safely." The old man flicked a switch on the
counter. Thad jumped uneasily as a automatic bolt slammed home on
the front door. It was the same sound made by an electronic
prison gate.
"Ah, poor Timmy. Who would have thought a boy with such a bright
future would be doing the horrible things he did. But… Anyway,
let us see what you have."
The old man's eyes bulged and he gave an audible gasp when Thad
placed the diamonds on to the counter. He had to hold back a
grin. Obviously, the old fart liked what he saw.
"Whe..? Where? Where did you get these?" The old man had picked
up the necklace and was examining it closely. His shirtsleeve had
pulled down and Thad noticed blurred blue numbers tattooed on his
wrist.
"Does it matter? Do you want them or not? I don't have time to
fuck around all day."
The old man reached under the counter, pulled up a strong box,
set it on the counter and reached inside. But it wasn't a fistful
of hard cold cash that he pulled out. Fuck no! The crazy old
bastard had a German Luger in his shaking hands and he was aiming
it right at Thad.
"What the hell is this? Have you lost your fucking mind?"
Thad could not comprehend this unprecedented turn of events. Here
he was, the meanest motherfucker that had walked the yard of the
toughest goddamn prison in the state for the last fifteen years,
and then this dried up turd has the balls to pull a piece on him
for no good fucking reason! Did he think he was going to rip him
off? After all his hard work? He better think fucking
again!
Thad reached his hand around to his back pocket, pulled out his
Buck knife and snapped it open with a flick of his wrist.
"Now you listen to me you old basta…"
The shot hit Thad high on the shoulder and knocked him straight
down to the floor. It felt like a horse had kicked him. He rolled
over to his hands and knees and tried to get up but the pain was
incredible. His breathing was ragged and a reddish, foamy froth
was running out of his mouth and pooling on the floor underneath
him. The old man had shuffled around the counter and was coming
towards him. Thad saw his knife about five feet away and started
to crawl towards it.
"Your rob my daughter's grave and come in here and try to sell me
her jewels, you piece of shit! The same diamonds my wife smuggled
out of Germany when she was fleeing the fucking Nazis!"
Thad knew he wouldn't be able to get to his knife. He stopped
crawling and tried to look over his good shoulder at the old man.
His daughter? What the hell was he…?
"What? Oh shit! Oh fuck! Man, it wasn't me! It wasn't my idea! It
was that goddamn Tim! He set me up on the score! It was T.."

Even at two in the morning the cellblock in a maximum security
penitentiary was never completely devoid of noise. The main
lights were extinguished, the televisions and radios shut off,
and the order for silence about the cellblock has been blared
over the intercom. But it was never completely silent. You could
still hear the graveyard shift guard with his radio turned down
low as he paced up and down the row, toilets flushing, tormented
men crying out in their sleep, jacking off, coughing, sneezing,
farting, and sobbing.
But laughter was something you rarely heard late at night in
prison. But tonight was much different. One inmate was laughing.
Laughing uncontrollably. Laughing hysterically. Laughing to the
point where the tears rolled down his face and the rookie
graveyard shift guard had to call the goon squad to haul his
crazy ass down to segregation before they had a goddamn riot on
their hands.
Since he had been locked up it had always been the inmate's habit
to read his mail late at night when it was more quiet. So tonight
Timothy Logan sat on his bunk and read the Minneapolis Star
Tribune news clipping that his mother had sent him. It was about
an ex-convict who was shot and killed while pathetically trying
to rob a respected local pawnshop owner with a knife.
And he laughed and he laughed and he laughed.